


Tools of his trade

by Dareandwriteit



Series: Behind Closed Doors [2]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Another one of those things with LITERALLY everyone, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-26
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-05 07:14:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11008551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dareandwriteit/pseuds/Dareandwriteit
Summary: A man's only as good as his tools. Magnus' room is filled with things with some kind of purpose, so he figures that counts.A series of drabbles about the crap Magnus has picked up over his adventuring career.





	1. The Coupon Book

Magnus never went into the library. He wasn’t one for reading, or silence. Libraries were everything he found hard to tolerate. If pushed to be completely honest, he struggled to wrap his head around this nerd stuff. Angus repeatedly tried to explain _why_ books were so great, and pushed suggested reading into his hands. If there was a reason why people found this fun, he hadn’t read that book yet.

He wasn’t there for reading. He was looking for someone.

The Director was sat at a desk, bent over a large tome. The light above her was bright spotlight, casting strong shadows beneath her. It made all the tension in her seem to leap off her body: the tense shoulders, the hunching over the table. Her hair was askew and greasy, unlike her usual pristine self. Magnus walked up behind her, taking care to keep his steps quiet. 

“Want to redeem your coupon?” Magnus bellowed, unaware of his volume. The Director jumped violently in her seat, dropping her pen onto the book and blotting it. She turned to Magnus, her face stormy.

“What?” She said, unimpressed.

“Expiry date is coming up. Thought now would be a good time to use it.”

The Director rubbed at her eyes, brows tightly knitted. “No, Magnus. I don’t want to redeem the dumb joke foot rub coupon you gave me for Candlenights.”

“Well, 1, it was a back rub, I ain’t giving foot rubs for free. That’s where the money is. 2, it’s not dumb, ‘cos everyone loves backrubs. Even you, I bet. And 3, letting a coupon expire is throwing away money, and that’s just bad math.”

The Director broke into a smile, suppressing a laugh. Magnus hadn’t expected this. It was _amazing_.

“Oh wow.”

“What is it?”

“You just- You have a nice smile.” Magnus said.

The Director blushed slightly, try as she might to hide it. “You should know that your rustic hospitality thing won’t work on me.”

“Worth a shot anyway.” Magnus shrugged. “Just figured you’d want a break.”

The Director sighed and turned back to her work. “Is that obvious?”

“I wouldn’t say obvious. You just work a lot, and I know I’d want a break, so…” Magnus put his hands down on Lucretia’s shoulders, slow and friendly. The Director flinched. She quickly got to her feet and kept her chair between her and Magnus. Magnus put his hands up, trying to placate as best he could, struggling to think what he could have done wrong. He took a step away, suddenly so afraid that he’d overstepped. Every time he thought he knew the boundaries, he’d misstep and be lost again.

Damn. He was so close.

The moment hung between them. Nothing moved, not even the air.

The Director maintained eye contact with him. “I need you to listen to me right now Magnus. I don’t want any misunderstanding.”

Magnus nodded mutely.

“This? Is not okay. I’m your boss, and this kind of contact is…”

“Uncomfortable?” Magnus offered.

She looked as though she might agree, but instead landed on the word, “Unprofessional.”

Magnus nodded.

“I’m not comfortable with this… intimacy. It’s nothing personal. You must understand me.”

Magnus nodded again. And after a few seconds, he asked. “What would you be comfortable with?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I gotta get you a new Candlenights present, since the last one turned out to be dump. What d’you want?”

“Nothing. No-one else got me a present, I don’t mind.”

“No-one? Not even Davenport?”

“Magnus, I’m the boss. You don’t get your boss a present.”

“Well maybe you don’t. But I do.”

The Director sighed. “Fine. Here’s a deal. You can give me a present-”

Magnus fist pumped in the air.

“-next Candlenights.” The Director finished, with a sad smile.

“But you need a break now!” Magnus moaned.

“Next year.” She insisted, and she returned to her book. 

Magnus worked on his present for a long time. He kept it hidden in a sock drawer, just to maintain the surprise. It didn’t matter that the Director never came into his room. Maintaining the surprise was important.

It was a simple notebook really. Magnus had drawn a wonky picture of him and the Director together, with the words “Best Friends” written underneath, for the cover.

The pages were all coupons. He filled them out as the year went on, taking note of the Director’s various tiny gripes and complaints.

The were several pages of “STOP TAAKO/MERLE/MAGNUS FROM DOING WACK SHIT” as coupons. Magnus figured she’d need a lot of those.  
There were lots of “FREE HEART TO HEART (Hug optional)” coupons, written each time he saw the Director return to her journals rather than talk a person.  
There were a few Magnus thought would be good to lighten her mood, “FREE JUGGLING TRICKS”, “FREE SERENADE” and “FREE PIGGYBACK/RICKSHAW RIDE” being among his favourites.  
There were a few practical ones, “MAGNUS WILL TIDY THE LIBRARY” and “MAGNUS WILL WEED THE QUAD”.  
And then a few pages of “DIRECTOR’S CHOICE”. He learned quickly that the person who best understood the Director’s feelings was the Director.

Magnus hoped his new present was better. He knew the Director deserved better.


	2. The Nail Polishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus has a makeover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit here comes cha boi, Taako! 
> 
> Warning for mentions of blood and nail biting, pretty low level stuff. 
> 
> Please tell me who you want to see next, I have lots of planned stuff but no idea who to cover when.

Magnus’ nails were a war zone. They were split, chipped and scarred in every possible way. Between the carpentry, nervous chewing and heavy hitting, it was lucky Magnus had any resemblance of nails left. His hands took the brunt of his life, and of so many others.

It was when Taako walked into the room and cut himself off mid-sentence. His ears drooped, and his face went pale. He didn’t drop the mug in his hands, not quite. But several beads of tea spilled over its edge and splattered loudly on the wooden floor.

Magnus reacted instinctually: he sat a little less tall, adopted a neutral an expression as possible. He was big guy, and made what attempts he could to be small. He put his hands up in front of him, a move universally seen as the “ _I’m unarmed, please don’t attack me_ ” move. His hands were red.

“Holy shit.” Magnus breathed. Blood snaked down his fingers and pooled between them. He wasn’t sure which nails were bleeding, but judging from the spread of blood it was at least a few of them.

“What the fuck my dude?” Taako said, setting his tea to one side. He approached Magnus, looking at his fingers the way a child would inspect a dead frog. Without thinking, Magnus slowly went to put his finger in his mouth to stop the bleeding. Taako pulled on Magnus’ sideburns to drag his mouth away from his hand.

Magnus made a short, sharp sound at the feeling. He’d felt worse pain, it was just unexpected. He was bent to almost half his height, as Taako pulled at his facial hair the way a parent might pull at a child’s ear.

“Keep those sausage links out of your gross mouth or I swear to god I’ll stick my umbrella in there instead.” Taako said. Then they began to walk over to the Taako’s room, Taako still dragging Magnus behind him by his sideburns.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow.” Magnus rattled the sounds in a continuous stream. Taako shoved Magnus into the wicker chair he had in the corner, and then rattled through the mess that was his makeup drawer. Magnus rubbed at his face, trying to rub the pain away.

“You trying to dye your hair red? ‘Cause trust me Mags, there’s better ways to pull it off than with your nasty nail biting blood.” Taako said, forcing Magnus’ hands down by his sides. “‘Sides, you could never pull that look off. You’d look like a fuckin’ orangutan.”

Magnus smiled weakly. Now he was looking at his fingers, they’d started to hurt. The pain was dull, and the blood was warm. He fought the urge to pick at his nails, and could feel himself failing. Taako saw this, and brought out a bowl (hand made, but poorly) that was filled with clean water. Magnus could swear he’d made it appear out of thin air, but knowing Taako his room was just filled with the kind of crap.

“Wash that shit off.” Taako said, digging through his makeup drawer once again. “Can’t paint with a goofed up canvas.”

Magnus plunged his hands into the bowl, splashing the water over himself and the chair. Taako gave him a pointed look. The look lingered. Magnus smiled bashfully. Then Taako turned back to his search through the drawer.

Magnus watched the water in the bowl turn a cloudy red. The ache got sharper, and he gritted his teeth. He didn’t complain. He never complained. Well, that wasn’t true: he’d complain about the heat, or chafing, or the absence of animals on the moon. Simple stuff. Stuff people would complain about _with_ him. It was always a safe line of conversation. Everyone likes to complain.

This wasn’t like that. He’d done this to himself. It was only him who had to deal with it.

“What happened then? Lose a fight with the wall?” Taako asked, nonchalantly. It sounded like he was upending a bag full of silverware down a flight of stairs the way he dug through his items.

“Ah, I wish. Just the usual. Bitin’ my nails, like a dummy.” Magnus said.

“Ain’t nothing dumb about it my dude. Free stress relief.” Taako said. Then after a pause. “Didn’t realise you had that much stress to relieve, though.”

Magnus felt a stab of cold go through his chest. “It’s nothing. Just a silly habit I can’t get rid off.”

“Well, get ready to talk about that in the past tense Mags, ‘cause Taako’s got the cure to your hideous addiction right here.” Taako dropped an armful of small glass bottles on the floor in front of Magnus. There were dozens of colours and brands of nail polish, some of which were at least somewhat magical judging by the way they glowed.

Magnus looked over them, extremely excited. “Which one can I use?”

“Any of them. Fuck, half of them ain’t mine anyways. Not like I’ll miss ‘em.”

“Can I try all of them?” Magnus asked, reaching down for the nearest bottles to his foot. Taako swatted the hand away from the bottles, taking a cross legged seat in front of Magnus.

“Jeezy creezy Mags, you’ve only got ten fingers as far as I know. And you’ve got to build to the rainbow shit. You don’t start there, there’s an order to these things. Pick one colour.”

Magnus agonised over the choice, picking up one colour, holding it up to the light, putting it down and inspecting another. Asking why one was called periwinkle and another was called sky blue when they looked the same. Reading the labels in detail.

Taako got bored. “Pick one now or you’re getting Grandpa Piss Yellow.”

“Okay, uh… this one.” Magnus picked one which was a deep green. Taako dutifully took it from his hands and told Magnus to dry his hands off. Magnus began to wipe his hands on his shirt.

“Use a towel you fuckin’ cave man.” Taako said, indicating a bag overflowing with clean laundry that was clearly never going to be put away. Magnus leaned over, wiped the last of the blood and the grime from his hands. Then he placed one hand on each knee, and Taako set to work painting the nails on Magnus’ right hand.

The gentle brush on Magnus’ nails was relaxing in a strange way. Magnus closed his eyes, and let the feeling be all he thought about. A memory, one which he hadn’t even been aware he was repressing, surfaced. The same tiny brush strokes, tickling the edges of the nails. The cold and thick liquid which pooled in the corners of the nails. One warm hand holding his while another painted.

 

_“This should get rid of that nail biting of yours.” Julia had said as she applied the first layer of polish._

_“Hope so.” Magnus had replied. “My digits really hurt.”_

_“Don’t know why you insist on eating your nails when we have perfectly good jerky.” Julia had said, with a smile that always accompanied her dry jokes._

_“It’s so we can match.” Magnus had beamed, wiggling his newly green fingertips. She sighed as she left a green streak across his fingers._

_“Next time just ask me. I’ll paint your nails any time you want me to.” She had said, leaving a gentle kiss on the bridge of his nose._

 

Magnus hadn’t painted his nails since Ravensroost. He realised he hadn’t known how. Or, at least he didn’t know how to try.

“Taako?” Magnus said, his voice thicker than he’d thought it would be.

“Hmmm?” Taako hummed, not looking up from his work.

“Can you show me how to do this? Y’know… by myself?”

Taako looked up at Magnus, and for a terrible moment Magnus was sure he’d pushed Taako away. That he’d said something that offended him, or made him feel unwanted. Justifications rushed up his throat and jostled around inside his head, all rushing to get out. But Taako interrupted those thoughts with his typical aloof tone.

“Yeah man, sure. Glad someone’s finally trying to take pride in their appearance on this team. I’ve carrying us in terms of looks for fuckin’ ever.”

Magnus had a few bottles of nail polish, a few from Taako, one or two bought on shopping trips down to Neverwinter. The shades varied wildly: “Moonbeam Silver” (“I have to buy it! It has Klarg on the bottle!”) all the way to “Rosewood Red”. Magnus’ nail polish never lasted long: it was chipped away over the course of days, often picked to pieces before the week was out.

Magnus’ fingers didn’t hurt anymore.


	3. The Goldfish Bowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus takes responsibility for his pet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merle's turn! Technically also Steven the goldfish. The duo no-one knew they wanted.

Steven the goldfish was one of the odder things in Magnus’ possession. It was a source of quite a number of jokes, and of strange questions. The sphere that Steven lived in was attached by a chain to Magnus’ belt. He’d been asked if Steven was a summonable monster, or a rare potion, or a magical bomb.

But no.

He was Steven. His power was love.

Merle in particular liked making jokes about Steven. He would always say how Steven was swimming upside down, or was in his own shit, or was starving because there was no way of putting food into his bubble. And Magnus would always bluster at him, and yell in Steven’s defense until he was pink in the face. It wasn’t serious. Not entirely.

* * *

Magnus woke up in waves: an ebbing sensation of pain flowing from his right side until it was strong enough to shake him from sleep. There were several points of his body which shone out like torches: a sharp pain in his right elbow that radiated out up to his shoulder. A heavy, dull ache across his face, one eye forced shut from hot bloated swelling. His lungs crackled with each breath, his ribs feeling brittle and sharp as ice. The familiar blooming pain of bruises were scattered across his body in hideous patterns he couldn’t dare to look at.

Fuck.

Magnus couldn’t see much, thanks to his eye that was swollen shut. He felt that he was not wearing his armour more than he saw it: he was wearing something soft and comfortable in the way his armour never was. He was lying in a bed that was too clean and crisp to be his own, with sheets too neat to be his own. 

The effort of sitting up was a big one. A few noises of pain, and small shifts of his center of gravity along the bed, and he sat up. It was made more difficult by the sling his right arm was in (fuck, broken bones took forever to deal with). 

“Don’t fuck up my work, shit stain. Those spell slots were a fucking pain.”

Magnus forced his eyes to focus on the figure sitting in a chair next to bed, making out the bright mess of an ugly hawaiian shirt. It was hard to tell how long Merle had been sitting there without being able to see properly. But he sounded like shit.

“First time there’s been work for me to fuck up, old man.” Magnus gave a smile, and was suddenly aware of the pain in his jaw. He hoped he wasn’t missing any more teeth. His smile was already lopsided.

“Mind telling me what in the hell you were thinking?” Merle said, an edge to his voice.

Magnus inhaled sharply, ignoring the fizzling in his chest. He hadn’t been thinking. He almost never was. He rushed in. He _defended_. And knowing that Merle was sitting there, that he was making dumb jokes and not breaking terrible news, meant he was right to do it. Magnus would have preferred not getting ambushed by ten guys. Of course. But if that’s how he went, that’s how he went. 

Magnus shrugged, and winced from the pain.

“Do me a favour and knock it off.” Merle’s voice was heavy. “I got better things to waste magic on.”

Magnus nodded ever so slightly, trying not to move too much. Merle was a tricky one. He never said what he meant, something which Magnus found hard to follow. But he was clear in other ways. It was the _way_ he said things, not what he said. The tone of voice. The tap of his foot. The unerring, unnerving eye contact. Merle had a language of his own which Magnus worked hard to learn.

Merle was pissed, and he was angry, and he was tired, and he was a million other things. Magnus was almost glad he couldn’t see Merle properly. It was hard to think of him as so serious, so dour. 

“And before you ask, I looked after your stupid fish for you. He’s over there.” Mere gestured at a spot on the other side of the room, which Magnus had no hope of making out clearly.

“You did?” The surprise was hard for Magnus to hide.

“How hard could it be? Stick the sucker in a bowl, throw some food in. Easier than your dumb ass.” Merle said, casually.

“You put him a bowl? How’d you get out of the bubble?”

“Didn’t exactly take him out. Sucker seems happy in his bubble, in the bowl. Pushes himself around like a hamster.”

“Aw, that’s adorable. He’s so smart.” Magnus beamed.

“He’s so something.” Merle grumbled, walking over to the bowl. He looked at it in silence for a minute. “Y’know, I don’t want to be looking after him. He’s your stupid pet. You can’t just expect me to look after ‘im if you eat it out there.”

Magnus had heard this talk before. Steven, the original, real Steven Waxman, had told him the same. After botched rebellion battles and bar fights, Steven would tell him one simple thing. Don’t leave Julia behind. If you throw your life away, you are throwing away part of hers. That isn’t your choice, or your right. It’s not that we would want you to avoid standing up for what you believe in, Maggie, but don’t throw yourself on the track to slow down the train. Look for the brake first.

“Then why you’d do it?” Magnus asked Merle. “If you hate looking after Steven so much an’ all.”

“You wouldn’t shut up about him. The whole time you were out, all you said was ‘Steven’. Sounded real important to you. If you died I would have felt like shit.” Merle said, picking up the bowl and bringing it over to Magnus. Magnus pretended that they meant the same Steven, and greeted his goldfish with as much optimism as he could muster.

The goldfish bowl was a permanent fixture in Magnus’ room. It was unofficially titled Steven’s Holiday Home. Magnus would drop Steven’s bubble into the larger tank whenever he got in for the night, and the goldfish would happily rush through it’s new space with complete joy. There were a few ornaments: an unused Bureau bracer, a tiny stone model of Magnus with his arms out in a hug, a pan totem.

Steven loved everything even more. Or maybe the same amount. It was hard to tell.

He was just a goldfish.


	4. Ducked Up Fuck, the fucked up duck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus shows that perfect has many different meanings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Carey's turn! Time to practice making some real nice mallards.
> 
> Spoilers for the latest episode kind of.

“I don’t know… It’s not my best.” Carey said, handing Magnus her third attempt at a duck. She seemed embarrassed by it, her tail wrapping around her leg in a tell tale sign of nervousness. She almost threw it at him, wanting to be rid of it.

Magnus looked over the misshapen lump of wood in his hands. It was better than the last two. That was not saying much. It was duck sized, at the very least. There was the vaguest impression of a beak, a sharp and triangular slab jutting out from the head. In a few places were feathers were almost visible, but dipped into jagged dents that destroyed the impression. The eyes were present but slightly off balance, giving the duck a distinct impression of having been hit over the head with a shovel. It was covered in scrapes where Carey’s scales had dragged across its surface, and had a few spots dyed by blood.

“Did you do your best?” Magnus asked.

“Sure, I guess.” Carey said, keeping her eyes on the floor.

“Then it’s perfect.”

Carey laughed explosively. “Did I hit you too hard on your dome piece Mags? It’s a piece of hot garbage.”

“No no no.” Magnus wagged a knowing finger. “It’s a great duck.”

“Oh, bull honkey, Mister Master Craftsman. You’ve made ducks that actually are perfect. I know Taako made one of them into real duck by accident! If he did that to mine it would a crime against ducks. A duck travesty.”

“Well, that’s after lots of practice! I used to suck nards at wood carving.”

“Now I know you’re lying. You were born with a scar on your face and a god damn carving knife in one hand. It must’ve sucked for your mom.” Carey said, punching Magnus playfully.

“No! Not at all!” Magnus insisted, and then he thought about it. He couldn’t quite remember his first carving. He had done so many, after all. But he had a vague sense of the fact that he had been frustrated by it once, and he had felt hot and embarrassed as he presented his first creation. When he worked with Steven, he had been good at it, talented beyond his years in Steven’s words. He wasn’t entirely sure when he’d gone from that frustration to feeling like it was second nature. 

Magnus restarted his thought. “All the best things have passion in them. I’ve made shit I had no interest in turn out crap every time. The stuff I care about… that’s always great! You can tell when it’s made with love.” Magnus held the duck up and waved it briefly side to side. “This duck is all your nerdy Killian love! It’s the best duck. It’s the Sweet Flips Mascot.”

Carey laughed, her tail finally unwinding from her leg. “Please, we all know you’re the mascot. You’re way more funny looking.”

“I don’t know. This ducked up fuck is pretty tough competition.” Magnus said, trying to look the duck in the eye. There was a beat. Then Carey and Magnus met eyes.

“Ducked up fuck the fucked up duck!” They yelled together.

* * *

Mr Ducked-up-fuck, formally the Fucked Up Duck, lived up on the corner of Magnus’ chest of drawers. The final duck, duck number seventeen, ended up with Killian. It was far better formed, but equally loved. Magnus loved the duck Carey had given him so much. He adopted it, to save it from being thrown away. The wood barely held together, and time did not help it. At least once a week someone would ask if he was ever going to throw the thing away.

But Magnus could never throw away something so perfectly imperfect.


	5. The stacks of letters

Magnus wasn’t much of a writer. He could count the number of things he’d written before the Bureau on one hand. It was after meeting Kravitz that he took it up regularly.

Tell Julia I love her.

He didn’t regret asking that. He almost lost his nerve with it, and he’d felt a palpable relief when the words sank in. Kravitz had joked that he hadn’t know which Julia he’d meant, and Magnus had laughed along. But it was a lie he was far from comfortable with: his heart sat in his throat, air just barely reaching his lungs. Of course he couldn’t say anything to her. Wasn’t that the whole point of this fucking mission? That death isn’t a line you can cross, no matter your intentions, no matter how unfair it is. How as Julia any different than Maureen?

How was he different than Lucas?

But then Kravtiz had shaken his head. Had drawn himself back to his full height, waved away the laughs with a perfectly sculpted hand. 

“Alright- there's a lot of Julia's over there but- nevermind, I'm kidding, I know who you're talking about.”

The relief was huge, and instant, and utterly short lived.

The doubt first surfaced as he lay down on his bed, exhausted from his, uh, “surgery” and a seemingly endless night.

I should have said more.

I hope you’re okay. I’m going to get him for what he did to you. I love Steven too, and everyone else from Ravensroost who’s there with you. I’m doing better now, I have a new family that I wish you were part of. I still haven’t gotten a dog yet, I’m not allowed them where I am and I never decided on a breed because I wanted you to choose. I did my best for Ravensroost when I got back, I promise. I won the Carpentry contest, grandma smell and all. I miss you.

The list seemed endless, and this was without questions. He knew wasn’t allowed them, but they were there, swarming in his mind with complete fury.

Did it hurt? Was it quick? Are you happy now? Would I get to be with you if I went too? Can you see what I do now? Did I make the right choice chopping off Merle’s arm? Or trusting the Bureau? Or leaving Ravensroost? Is Steven with you? Do you miss me? Do you know how much I love you? Could I have done more to save you?

And the thoughts just kept piling up, and it began to feel like they breaking out of his skull. Despite how exhausted he felt, he dragged himself out of his bed. He rifled through the bedside cabinets clumsily, until he found something that had been there before he’d moved in. A pad of paper and a fountain pen. He took the items, laid them out on the bed in front of him and began to write.

The first one was an unmitigated disaster. The ink smudged all over the page, his hands and the bed. The second one was hardly better: he didn’t wait for the ink to dry, and the words bled together despite his efforts to keep his hand off the page. The third one was so unintelligible that he scribbled over the whole thing.

But he still couldn’t sleep. So he just kept writing.

None of the pages were good exactly. But they were for Julia, and she would understand. At first the letters were structured, and clear. The first completed letter was entirely assurances about his life now, about how he still loved her endlessly and how his life was good despite how much he missed her. The second completed letter was much the same, with questions scattered around in what Magnus thought was a good amount of spacing.

He wrote every night. Somehow, instead of running out things to say, Magnus found more and more things he’d forgotten he’d want to tell Julia. He didn’t reread them, if he did he’d likely get kind of embarrassed by them and try to start again. But every now and then, he’d check for something he wanted to be sure he’d included something important.

A few of the important things so far were:

_I got this awesome sword. It’s not as good as the ones you made with your dad, but it’s on fire, which is cool._

_Remember that cooking show with that chef who hit on one of us during his show? And we could never figure out if he was hitting on me or you? That was Taako. He was hitting on both of us._

_Do you know the gods up there? Can you ask Pan to lay off Merle for like five minutes?_

_Do you know where you were buried? I was never sure, and I want to put some flowers down._

_This kid, Angus, makes me think of you. He likes books too. I hope you can see the little shit, he’s great._

_I still use that old knife I showed up with to carve. And yes, it’s still crappy._

He signed off every letter the same way.

_I love you, and I miss you._  
See you soon (but not too soon)  
Maggie 

Magnus kept the letters tied up in a stack with frayed old string. They lived next to his bed most of the time. Whenever they went out on a mission they were in his bag, tucked deep inside a pocket. Close to his heart, he joked with himself. It was in case we wanted to write more when he was out. It didn’t matter that he would never write them around other people. And if he happened to run into Kravitz again, and have something to more to give Julia…

Well it wouldn’t be bad thing, would it?

**Author's Note:**

> So this room thing is a series now, I guess. Get used to seeing a new fic with way too many tags!
> 
> I adore Magnus, and am totally open to suggestions for people or objects you want to see!


End file.
